Sara, Again
by girl with all the violets
Summary: Sara reappears after a 7 year disappearance,but she does not recall Grissom. Presumed dead, Gil went on with his life.Now that she is back, he is driven to the point of obsession as he tries to find out.... check inside for rest of sum.
1. Chapter 1

Hi there waves

Summery: Gil's life is about to be turned upside down. Sara has reappeared after a 7-year disappearance, but she does not recall him. Long presumed dead, Gil went on with his life. Now that she is back, he is driven to the point of obsession as he tries to find out what happened to her and where she has been.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters

A/N: First multi-chapter fan fiction that I am actually going to complete and not quit half way through and I am going to update regularly… I did that with 'seeing red' which went horribly wrong…I going to go in to less detail in this story which is something I don't do so we'll see what happens. Oh and I know the summery doesn't reflect what happens in this chapter but it will happen… with lots of twists and the story will be flash back heavy. Thoughts/ dreams are in italic and flashbacks... I guess they will be in bold

Ship: Catherine/Warrick for definite and either Greg or Nick will be married (OC) and have a child. I don't know, depends what mood I am in. Grissom/ Sara in past tense and Sara and OC in past tense

x

* * *

Please. 

Let me go.

No.

No.

Please.

Let me go.

Let me go.

Please.

God…

* * *

It was close to 1:30. The Gucci shoes were sharp sounding when they hit the concrete. 

"The food was really interesting."

"And by interesting you mean inedible."

She laughed.

"Yes. Well, thank you for walking me to my car."

The street danced with mythology and mysticism, the sky was a dark but colourful blue dreamscape and there was a sense of oriental magic, shimmering with seductively radiant blues.

"My pleasure." He smiled uncomfortably as she tucked several strands of blonde hair behind her ears. Gil's eyes squinted slightly at the female, Anna. She was pretty and sharp, gifted.

"You won't be calling me again, will you?" Anna gave him a smile.

"No. Sorry."

"It's okay."

Gil opened her car door and she stepped in.

"Drive safe."

She gave him one last smile and he watched her drive down the street, her amber lights lighting up the dark. He sighed deep in to his chest and stuck his hands back in to his pockets. He walked back to the large house, with its large blue gardens. He stopped and looked at a bench. It had carved in to it: For Georgina who loved these gardens from William who always sat beside her.'

* * *

"Okay…" Gil's eyes flickered between the female that sat to his left and the man sitting to his right. 

"When are you guys going to stop setting me up?"

Gil was sat on the cream sofa; his shoes just softly touched the oak coffee table, which had empty cappuccino mugs, foam still present around the rims. Sprays of sweet yellow and red flowers adorned the wood.

Warrick tugged at the big mass of silk hung around his neck as he looked over to Catherine. She was sitting, crossed legged and leaning back in to the soft chair, across from Warrick. The rhinestone-studded strap cut across her toes exquisitely. She gained a good four inches in height, She raised an eyebrow which gave her a ruthlessly seductive look.

"We weren't setting you up, we-."

"You."

Her head snapped at Warrick and he grinned.

"I just think it would be good if you got on the bandwagon, maybe." Her eyes squinted, her nose creased and her lips spread.

Gil laughed, slightly snorting. He felt his Adam's apple bounce as he tilted his head back. He rubbed his tired eyes. They sat in silence, listening to each other's breathing.

"You want to stay over tonight?" Warrick's words made Gil's head lift up, voice rich, beguiling and reverent.

"Yeah, that would be great." He smiled sadly. He didn't want to live in the empty white building that looks like a furniture store rather than a place called home.

"Okay, I'll go make up the bed." Catherine pushed herself forward but Warrick stood up quick.

"No, I'll go."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

He walked past her and bent over her, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders and she leaned in to, her cheek resting on his muscle. He kissed her hair and walked to Lindsey's old bedroom. Lindsey was now at LVUC. Catherine slipped off her shoes and they clunked against the cooling tiled floors.

"I can see myself in five years time still sitting on this sofa."

"That's a very depressing thought, Gil." She rubbed her eyes, "Oh god, I'm horribly drunk. I don't know how I am going to get up tomorrow-oh today." Catherine flicked her watch from her wrist and tossed it on to the table. She had to be up for three p.m., she was back in charge of swing. Gil knew she would be up just after dawn though, running. Warrick had been promoted to nightshift, Nick was his second in command, and a girl from the east coast was running days.

"Catherine,"

She hummed for a response.

"Please, don't set me up again."

Catherine moved next Grissom, sitting next to him.

"Gil, it has been seven years-."

"Yeah, seven years of being… I just want to live out the remainder of my life…alone… and in peace…Goodnight Catherine."

"…night…good sleep…anything…shout."

* * *

_I don't want flowers. I don't want hymns. I don't want prayers. I don't want cards. I don't want sympathy. I want her… I want her back…_

The violence of his agitation seemed to have awakened his from a long deep sleep.

He rubbed his eyes.There was a clobber and bristle of steps outside the door and the sunlight kissed at his face. Gil expelled the air through his mouth. Twice. The skin on his chest and on his legs seemed tightening and tingling, dulling aches. He reached out with his right arm, which felt like it was packed with lead, and spun the alarm clock. There was a layer of silence in the room as he watched the green digits flicker until an hour had passed.

"Morning," Gil entered the kitchen. Catherine was leaning against the refrigerator, dressed casually, slacks and an olive t-shirt. She slurped hungrily from the bottle of water. He could smell weird and wonderful oils. Hyssop, extract of liquorices, oil of bay, camphor, fir nuts and other such like trash.

"Hey sleepy head…Oooh so that's a grumpy head. Uh, you never did get that tie thing down…"

Catherine untwisted Gil's tie and patted it down softly. Gil stayed over once every few weeks so he had several changes of clothes and a few essentials, toothbrush; comb; deodorant. "So what is today's lecture on?"

"Just the basics. Introduction to Entomology."

"Are you coming back tonight or…"

"I'll just go home."

"You want something to eat before you go?"

"No, thanks."

"You sure?" Catherine opened the fridge door and the coolness blasted her, it was refreshing.

"We have some yoghurt. Actually, at some point it could have been cottage cheese." She picked up the white pot and dunked her small finger in it. Her pixie tongue licked the white, liquid substance and she grimaced. It was slopped in to the bin.

"Cereal… or toast. A sugary, fruit drink that has been fermenting for a few months? Fine, fine, don't give me that look… I am just looking out for you."

"I'll grab something later."

"You better."

Gil gave Catherine a brief kiss on her cheek and called back once he reached the front door,

"Tell the guys I said 'hello.'"

* * *

Thanks for reading x Please don't flame me (I don't actually know what that means, well I have an idea, but please dont do it) 


	2. Chapter 2

Hello. New chapter:

Summery: Gil's life is about to be turned upside down. Sara has reappeared after a 7-year disappearance, but she does not recall him. Long presumed dead, Gil went on with his life. Now that she is back, he is driven to the point of obsession as he tries to find out what happened to her and where she has been.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters

A/N: Thank you to: CSigurlie07(Sara is coming soon...promise), fredchester (I love you! You reviewed me again)and xxxsarasbutterflyxxx (thank you for not flaming me lol) and thank you anyone who read it.

x

* * *

Greg grinned manically, ear to ear when he realised that Gil had realised that his shoes were absorbing the foamy and sloppy liquid.

Gil had become immersed in the spaces between the lines of Kafka's 'The Hunger Artist' when Greg had called him on his cell phone. Greg said that he had to wait for a plumber, 'Magic Fingers' or something, and he needed someone to take Ashley to a music lesson to attend on the other side of Las Vegas.

Ashley was his friend's daughter. Greg had known Ashley's mother since high school. Ashley was a fiery fourteen year-old and blisteringly passionate about music, although Greg and her taste differed dramatically, "the difference between Greg's taste in music and mine is that I have some." She found school painfully easy and blew through exams, decimated them actually. Like every fourteen year old, she thought she knew it all and soon she would realise that in fact she was very naïve. Every teenager becomes rebellious when they realise that there parents don't have all the answers; they don't know much more about the world than you do; that they don't have all the answers; that there isn't any Santa Clause; that our parents having been lying to us all along.

"What happened here?"

"Someone overloaded the washing machine," Greg shouted the last to words.

Ashley appeared. Oval faced and she had a kitten nose, and a sweet mouth, very pink, and a very small, firm chin. Brown hair brushed back from her forehead, spilling down behind her. She wore an olive green t-shirt and faded jeans. The top of a pink, thin, flip phone poked out of her right hip pocket.

"Hey, you said make sure all the dirty laundry got washed by the time I went out.

Her fingers curled in to a sharp finger point shape.

"And you got peanut butter on your couch. That is just gross."

"I don't eat peanut butter." Nick had put him off so much, Greg was on the verge of being arachibutyrophobic, the idea of peanut stalagmites hanging from the roof of his mouth almost made Greg wretch.

"Well neither do I." Her left hand was firmly placed on her left hip.

Greg sighed and told sent her to get her stuff.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I didn't want to ask Nick…he has worked a double and wanted to spend time with Madison and-."

Nick's daughter, Madison was six years old, sterile and sweet. Madison was a female Nick, but then his late wife also had brown features. He had lost his wife, Lorna, to a brain tumour that had pushed into her brain stem and killed her fourteen months ago. Everyone had said it was not fair, and it wasn't.

Madison became very quiet, reclusive and shy. The girl had a brown mane and there was an unnatural glisten in the child's deep chocolate eyes. Her nose was more feminine though. She would wear her hair was in two plaits and wore blouses and denim pants. She was very short for her age and her small form have become even smaller. Gil pondered what it would be like to have a constant reminder of what you had lost. _Her face, her eyes looking up at you? Would be worse having a reminder or having nothing at all?_

"It's fine. How is he?"

"He is okay. I think we should spend some time with him. Maybe we could do something for thanksgiving?"

Gil nodded as Ashley re-entered. The serious and melancholy mood reverted back to a happy one.

"And can someone tell me why there is a wet towel on my leather chair?" Greg grabbed it and blasted Ashley with a sigh. She squeezed out the word 'sorry'.

"Is this the Sanders residence?" The new voice made Gil's head turn. A man, younger than him but older than Warrick stood at the door, looked like he often worked out, stood at the open door. He held a steel tool box.

"Yeah, just one second. Have you got your flute?" Ashley tilted her box from her side.

"Okay good. See you later kid." Ashley followed Gil.

"Excuse me…thank you."

Greg called to Ashley.

"You want Indian tonight?"

Gil saw the plumbers van. It was a dirty white.

"Nah to spicy? Italian?"

The name of his company was called 'Magic Fingers.' The logo was mostly black but it had a border of yellow and purple stars.

"Had that last week? Thai?"

"Thai would be great."

"Ashley you are gonna be late." Greg realised that Grissom was calling from outside and Ashley responded by saying.

"Coming G."

Greg thanked all the God's he could think of that Gil wasn't his boss.

* * *

thank you for reading

x


	3. Chapter 3

Hey there...

Summery: Gil's life is about to be turned upside down. Sara has reappeared after a 7-year disappearance, but she does not recall him. Long presumed dead, Gil went on with his life. Now that she is back, he is driven to the point of obsession as he tries to find out what happened to her and where she has been.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters

Thank you to: Dybdahl, xxxsarasbutterflyxxx, shakia and sugar230 for reviewing and to anyone who read the story

A/N: This isthe quickest update I have EVER done and its because of the fabpeople who checked out my story and the peeps mentioned above. Since I have never been to Las Vegas I don't actually know street names or locations except for things I have learned from watching CSI like 'Henderson is a nice place' andstuff like that so sorry for any mistakes to do with location. I will probs do a bit of background research.The next update will be up soon (most likely at the weekend) and it will be a flashback.

x

* * *

They had been sat in traffic for thirty minutes in the middle of a shopping paradise. The car was on the edge of combustion. The morning buzz of traffic was overloading and the heat from the autumn sun was overwhelming. Hot whistles from the radios blasted in to Gil's and Ashley's eardrums and there was a simmering hush of the breeze. They had given up talking as their voices had struggled against the beating heat. However, the bubblegum pop was a sharp irritating noise.

"Can you please stop that?"

Ashley deflated the pink bubblegum, sucking in to her mouth; tongue made clicking noises; blew loudly so the loose wisps of hair floated around; her lips made sizzling sounds; her fingers frosted aqua and dream pink nails tapped; drumming at the plastic; another blow of air; a smack of lips.

He sighed, giving up.

"Chew your gum." She looked at him, sweetly smiling as if to say thanks and overemphasised her jaw smacking several times.

"So what do you do for kicks and stuff?"

"Kicks?"

"You know, fun…"

"I like to study entomology."

"No, that doesn't count. That is more of your job…"

"I enjoy my work."

They sat again in the quiet. Ashley stretched out the gum and twirled it around her finger and slotted back in her mouth. This time he broke the silence.

"I used to ride rollercoaster's."

"Why'd you stop?"

When he did not answer she turned her head, and gave him a look which was half inquiring and half 'fine, whatever,' but he just looked straight ahead.

"You are like something out of Fitzgerald, Y'know…" She gave him an apologetic look and a dilute smile, even though he wasn't looking.

"The man that can everything but love…"

His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Unless, of course you have loved but-."

"What time do you need to be at your lesson?" he interupted.

"In twenty minutes but like that's ever gonna happen."

"Look, we will get there, okay, I promise. It doesn't matter if you are a few minutes late…"

"No, it does matter because..." Ashley continued to speak. Gil semi-blotted out her voice.

A woman was looking each away waiting to cross the road in front. A woman, in the body of a girl, was trying to be invisible wearing grey slacks, a red jacket which was covering most of a long sleeved top. She was struggling with heavy plastic bags which dragged her arms to the floor. She stopped briefly coughing and brushing away a strand of hair that had escaped from the scrawny and greasy looking pony tail. She dodged between people, nervous of them as ifthey were a pack of dogs, teasing, laughing. Yipping.

The world went silent, or Gil became deaf. He couldn't breathe and delicious new rush of blood to his brain and he felt like he was floating for a second. Heart exploding. A thousand thoughts ran as if they were written on ribbons being pulled through his mind.

_Sara?_

Ashley turned to look at Gil. His face was the colour of ashes, which looked as though it had been drawn in charcoal, narrow eyes and puckered brows.

He saw large dark signs of sleeplessness beneath her eyes. The dark circles reminded him of an owl. Her body was contracted very defensive and weak position, like a bunched knot. Her face was a wonder of bleaching milk and her eyes were dazzling design of absent swirls and dead wood browns. He knew those orbs and although he remained poised and somewhat collected, but his face was badly stricken. Grissom seemed quietly entranced as he waited for his mind and body to intermingle. He pulled himself together.

He shifted and twisted certain things in his car; his actions were so quick and automatic like reflexes.

"Hey, what are you doing?" The car wasmoved in to parking space. Gil leaped out of the now parked car and looked at Ashley. He needed to know whether the sun was playing a trick on him or whether he saw her.

"I swear I will be right back." Ashley just looked at him and by saying nothing, she was speaking volumes.

The words 'red jacket' were screaming at him as he politely shoved through the crowd.

"Excuse me…please excuse me…sorry…sorry…excuse me."

The idea that he'd lost was inconceivable. A shot of crimson glinted about 30 paces in front of him.

She was there. He had to stop himself from reaching out.

"Excuse me, Miss," the girl shivered around to face him.

Gil looked at her. He didn't say anything, just looked with a lack of blinking. He was amazed stunned and shocked.

It was Sara.

Rich blue eyes pierced Sara's facial features which twisted at the sight of him. His throat was thick with emotion.

"Sara," he breathed out, lips twichting in to a smile.

"It's really you. You're alive," Sara's eyes were grotesquely wide and seemed to be bulging from her over-sculpted face. Far thinner and gaunt than he could ever remember. Her face was haunted, hollow and her skin was tight over her bones.

"I never gave up-." She stepped backwards, keeping her chin locked down.

"I'm s-s-s-sorry sir, but you are missssstaken."

Several seconds, hours, or maybe even several centuries passed—Gil didn't know. He was trying to figure her out but all he could do was repeat her name. Twice. He wasn't mistaken. He knew he wasn't.

"I don't know any Sara. Please sir, you are hurting me." She was frightened and repelling him. He felt her tug, and he had been so dazed he had not realised he had his hand had leached on to her arm, that he was holding her so tight because he thought that if he let go, she would drift away and it would not have been real. He had been spellbound and he did not want to break loose of her.

But he removed his hand which was bulging with blood.

No matter how intensely he looked at her face, he still could not recall this expression.

Was it her? If it was she was being cruel on the deepest level. Yet it was coming up to year seven of her disappearance. Maybe it was so desperate he was willing to believe this gaunt girl was Sara. Her exceedingly wide and astonished eyes glimmered in the sickly, sunlight.

"Sara, I spent 3 three years searching for you," he said in a voice that underscored his sadness. Anger then kicked in and he spat out "I'll go to hell before I lose you again."

"My name is not Sara." Her voice was very aged, very tired. Several people were watching them now, curious, including a member of LVPD. Gil was a civilian now, had been for almost five years.

"My name is Susan. Now I don't know who you think I am but…"

The blast of car horn pelted at Gil and his head turned sharply as if jerked by a cord.

He realised he had let his guard down.

She was gone.

Again.

* * *

thank you for reading... btw Sara doesn't have amnesia and its not her evil twin lol x 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters

Thank you to: CSigurlie07,Dybdahl, fredchester, imz, kittenhill, laurasidle, shania1277, sugar230 and xxxsarasbutterflyxxx for being on the alert thingy... thank you so much, I feel so mean for not thank you before now and thank you to disasteranytime, xxxsarasbutterflyxxx, Dybdahl, and CSigurlie07 for reviewing my last chapter. It really made my day.

A/N: This is a flashback chapter. It's a very long chapter-sorry and I don't know what the legit is on pepper spray is in Las Vegas so sorry if that is wrong too.

* * *

The weather was horrible yet intoxicating. The city was covered with thick, yellow and deathly clouds that weighed heavily over the Las Vegas and Sara hoped it would not rain.

Sara spat the foamy liquid in to her basin. Her hair was still wet and hung like brown rat tails, curling and stringy. Her lips curved inwards as she began to apply her colourless lip balm- the make-up equivalent of trainers. Sara looked at her make-up bag. There was a tube of lip-gloss, clear of course, a set of eye shadow with three different shades and some hand cream. She had given up after her mother was transfer to another city, not just the make-up but the more audacious aspects of her personality.

Sara glided to her bedroom and found a dusty basket in her dressing table drawer- the make-up grave yard. Sara mused why scientists still have to explain why women purchased a lipstick, wore it a few times and then, knowing it will never be used again, hung on to it just in case.

_In the case of an emergency or natural disaster, I'll have no food or water, but plenty of lipstick to sustain me for months._ She pondered what Catherine's make-up set was like.

Sara took a sticky plum red coloured lipstick whichshe had worn once several years ago. She knew that bold lipstick was a statement, and there was no way she could not pretend she didn't know it was on once she was out of her door. She applied colours to her eyelids and lashes, her bland, dark-eyed moon of a face transformed.

* * *

She stepped through the doors of the unfamiliar place. Mellow jazz music and soft lighting, small tables with white linen covers and in decorating in the centre, a tea light candle in a clear glass jar, like one that holds stinging colourful conserves.

She was casually dressed, same style she wore for work. A chunky necklace elongated her neck so it became swan-like.

Several men looked at her, including Gil, who was sat casually in the far corner. Well, she knew his orbs latched on to her but it could be possible that she was suffering from paranoia. Yet, the overt wave of attention was so unfamiliar that her first inclination was to go to great lengths to thwart it- a fake yawn that allowed her to cover her lip-stick smothered mouth for a time period. As she began to walk, thin heels clattering underneath the sounds of the chatter, she realised that this was not the best approach.

She speculated how long a yawn could really last. Sara realised it didn't look as if she was yawning but as if she was a strange woman covering her mouth with her self-manicured hand. Sara finally relaxed, revealed her mouth. She was unsure whether she could live up to the expectation of glamour and allure that goes with bold lipstick.

"Hey." Her eyes glittered at his, as she sat down. She looked around smiling, listening to the lavish audio feast of constantly revealing sonic layers capped the dewy singing voices coming from the speakers.

"This place is nice."

"Yeah, it's the best kept secret in town."

Sara had been working three days straight on a case; she was refusing to stop working, she was even semi-bribing and compromising with him, that if he let her just finish this case she would use up some of her vacation time. It had almost killed Sara when he had said to her "No deal." Gil knew she needed a break, not just from the case but from the environment and he knew that if she went home she would probably still do work, turn over the evidence in her mind.

"Are there no coffee houses left in Las Vegas?" He smiled, and a small laugh breathed out of his mouth. He had invited her for coffee, promising they could muse about the case. Together.

As the time passed, the amount of wine in the bottle became less and less and the lights seemed to be getting dimmer, but it could have been because her eyes had become accustomed to the light. Her eyes flickered about as much as the candle flame. The jazz music had become something sweet, something that was blending melodic hooks perfectly with passionate, dreamy lyrics of love.Angst, melody, brutal guitars, delicate atmospherics and songs that must have come from so deep down in the soul that they positively crackled with heartache.

Sara felt delicately drenched in a mood of happiness. She had found herself extroverted in a way that would have made her uncomfortable before. She had managed to tell a joke with flair and confidence instead of the usual "I don't know if this is funny but…" Sara had made someone laugh, although it was Greg's joke. In fact, there was not a time she had ever shared a joke with Grissom. Or Gil.

They were to separate people sharing one body, except Grissom had become more and more dominate until eventually, the only times Sara saw Gil was when either of them were extremely emotional.

Sara and Grissom were sat in similar positions, shoulders slumped, bodies forward with their head being supported by their hand. Gil kept his other hand still while Sara occasionally played with things. They had talked about work, world issues, work, places they wanted to go, back to the topic of work, places they had been, and they had discussed things with culture and sophistication.

It was almost one o'clock and the rain clouds still hovered. The restaurant waitresses were placing the chairs up on to the tables, there was only another couple.

Together they walked out and the breeze made them shiver. The only thing that illuminated their face was the countless, twinkling white fairy lights that were knotted in the trees. Sara looked at the tree, all speckled with its tiny lights and breathed in its deep perfume. They were walking in a place that didn't feel like Las Vegas. It didn't feel like anywhere she knew, even though it was only a few blocks from her apartment.

Sara tripped slightly, laughing. Grissom caught hold of her hand, twirling her slightly towards him. She was only tipsy because of the drink but completely drunk on endorphins. She was facing him now. Her laughter was slowing down to just a small humming with her breathing.

"Are you okay?"

Still smiling, she nodded and realised he was still holding her hand.

"Yeah, I am just so…so…"

Rain hammered, decreasing the sharpness of the colours. It came down in pelts, it drenched them in three seconds.

"Oh, crap."

Sara let out a sharp note of laughter. It was such a taboo to hear him swear, even if it was so mildly.

She watched the rain drops hang on the wire hairs that made up his beard.

"You know, I can walk from here on my own. You need to get home."

"Don't be stupid, I am not going to let the most beautiful woman walk alone at night in Las Vegas."

Sara stopped briefly while he continued walking.

"What did you say?"

"Sorry, you're not stupid…Come on... When did you become a dawdler?"

Grissom eventually flagged for a cab since Sara kept hurting her ankle in her shoes and he had refused to piggy back her.

"Aren't you still a vegetarian…then shouldn't it be more of a…a quorn-back ride…" He was so hopeless and ridiculous at times.

Sometimes they would look at each other. The rest of the time they looked at the colours that were being made in the puddles, neon lights and street lights becoming melting waves in the water. They sat very still, every time they moved the leather would groan.

"Well, there is my apartment. Right there." Sara looked at the large building and its iron gates. She forgot they shut at two in the morning and it was now 1:53. Her hands fluttered in to her purse and Gil's eyes looked in it while she rummaged, though he didn't know what for. It was his job to be observant.

There was her cell phone, keys, something which read 'per spra' (Gil couldn't help but smile when he realised Sara carried pepper spray) and an orange cylinder of prescription drugs. He looked at her. He wanted to know what they were for. Sara handed him some dollar bills.

"That should cover it; if you need more I will give it to you at work to-."

Gil just folded his hand over hers, telling her it didn't matter.

"Oh… okay…if you are sure…thank you… Well, goodnight. See you tomorrow."

He watched her cross the road before he asked to the driver to take him home. He pondered over the items he had seen in her purse. Although his minded floated and laughed at the pepper spray, he kept thinking of the orange tube of pills. He was curiosity prone and wanted to know what they were.

He didn't realise that he would find out the answer in three days time, when he would be holding a similar container in his latex covered hand.

* * *

Thank you for reading... next chapter will be up on monday/ tuesday.

x


	5. Chapter 5

Hiya

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: fredchester and xxxsarasbutterflyxxx for reviewing and thank you to rhee for adding this story to your faves. Sorry that this chapter is so short, I just realised it as tuesday. next chapter will be up at the weekend. Hope you have a good week.

x

* * *

"Gil, I am worried about you." He placed the glass down which had been cooling his skin. It was a tumbler full of ice cubes, catching light in its frozen bubbles, swirling liquid sloshed over them. His other hand held his house phone.

"It was her, Catherine, I know it was" he spoke calmly, because he knew that the first thing a hysteric says 'I am not hysterical' and he had already said that to Catherine. He had been replaying it over and over but he could feel the doubt in her voice.

"I saw her…I…I touched her..." He put his hand out, touching the air as if he was touching her face. Catherine wondered why he had paused and she was startled when he spoke again.

"And we never found a body." Catherine noticed how he stuttered on the final word. She also noticed how her hopes were rising, Gil seemed so damn sure. Her heart was breaking, for both herself and Gil. She sighed inwardly. The idea of Sara being alive was sublime.

"It was midday, the sun was bright and you saw a woman who looked like Sara,"

"It was Sara."

"Okay, okay, Sara then… but the sun was bright, it was a large crowd, and there are thousands of female brunets in Nevada, it's almost seven years since she went missing and… I know the guilt you felt for when she went missing."

He breathed deeply as he recalled the words Catherine had after three months of looking; searching; hunting.

"_I am not going pretend that I know what you're going through or that I can understand you're feeling…because I can't…I wish… I wish I could say that over time, things will get better, the pain you are feeling now is going to ease over time… we both know that things are not going to get better and that the pain won't ease... But you will go on…we all will… I imagine losing Sara for you is like losing a daughter…or worse."_ _His eyebrow's knotted together as he struggled to gain to control of his dry tears. His heart was burning away. In his mind, memories were so painful they had no pictures or people in them; they only had dark inchoate feelings and awesome guilt for past wrongs._

"Catherine, you have to trust me."

"I don't trust you…not on this…" Her blue hematite eyes blurred with tears, while his eyes misted.

"I'm sorry Gil." He heard the click and he exchanged the phone for his drink, gulping it with pure greed as his muscles rippled just under his skin. He was shaking.

* * *

Nick Stokes stepped through the door, his pupils dancing slowly. He watched Catherine's hand hold on to the phone before placing it back in its holder. The lab was quiet, speechless and seemed to be obeying a law of silence. It wouldn't last. 

"Hey, you alright?" With wide and valiant eyes Nick looked at Catherine, unsure if she was crying.

"Yeah, I am fine." She had tried to quieten her sniff. "What are you doing here?"

"I just came in early, thought I'd swing by, see how you're doing." Nick leaned on the doorframe. "Looks like a came at the right time."

"It's nothing," Catherine waved her hand, whilst looking at her desk clock; she was relieve to see she had only 32 minuets to go before it was the end of her shift.

"It is just that Grissom has got an idea in his head, and he is so stubborn about it." Nick nodded twice silently.

"You want to get some coffee?" His head indicated the hallway. "You look like you need it." It wasn't so much insulting, but more of an act of concern. She smiled at Nick.

"Coffee would be great."

"He said he felt further away from her now than when she first went missing because I don't think he ever really believed that he'd lost her. Then he is convinced that he has

seen her…I don't want to let myself be convinced."

Nick poured the tepid, bitter coffee from the filter jug that had been untouched while Catherine explained what had happened. Nick stole a taste of the coffee, though by definition it probably was not coffee, and poured the rest of it down the sink.

"So you think Grissom is losing his marbles?"

He opened the cupboard which held Greg's secret stash of Blue Mountain.

"Yes…No…I don't know Nick. He will kill you for using that… I just think he wants to see Sara that he is willing to see her in someone else."

The delicious aroma of the coffee began permeating throughout the room as Nick placed a cup in front of Catherine.

"Thanks."

"I just don't want him to end up stalking the poor girl… he said that he thought he had scared her." her frown deepened as she dropped her eyes and took sip of warm coffee.

"Of course there is the possibility that the woman he saw was actually Sara."

Catherine looked at him pointedly as if to say 'not you too.'

"Maybe Sara has amnesia-." Nick smiled; a full heart-stopping smile.

"Nick, we don't live in a TV drama world that is screened every Thursday night on CBS, okay." Nick laughed slightly and so did Catherine once she realised what she said. She moaned loudly and put her head on her folded arms which were crossed on the table and laughed a little.

"Long shift today?" Nick asked curiously and mischievously.

"Oh yeah," and she took another sip. So did Nick.

"But think about it Catherine. Grissom, as far as we know, is not suffering from a mental disorder and he is not a liar, so therefore until any further evidence arises, we have to assume that the person he saw was Sara."

"You been reading Madison 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe'?"

"How can you tell?"

"Because what you just said is similar to what the Professor told Susan and Peter when Lucy kept talking about Narnia…" her pink lips twisted wryly "I had a six year old once, you know."

* * *

thanks for reading x 


	6. Chapter 6

heya, new chapter

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters

A/N: In the last chapter I called the coffee 'blue mountain' and its not called that, its 'blue jamican'...I have crossed the 1500 hits lineso yay(!) so thanks to those people and thank you to bene xxxsarasbutterflyxxx and dybdahl for reviewing. Next chapter should be up next weekend... I have to start revising because I have exams in four weeks (ugh) so chapters will be coming up once every one week probably, but keep reading.

Have a great easter unless you dont celebrate easter then just have a good weekend.

x

* * *

Nick and Greg were in the boss's office, Warrick's office Warrick was sat behind his desk while the two other CSI's sat in front with blankets wrapped around them, hands clutching to the lusciously warm coffee. The shivers seemed to have passed.

It had been a cold and grey night. The torrential rain had been bulletining the outside surfaces. Now the clouds were not black but a golden pink billow of foam with plum rotting at the centre of them. The golden burning sun was rising and soon it would rise majestically above the panoply of clouds.

The three men were like phoenixes. Nick and Greg had just been reborn from the ashes while Warrick felt old and tired and longed for the flames. Nick's potent, undeniable charm and lovable aura radiated while Greg's ferocious sprit, excitement, interest in other peoples interesting was on a high. They sat around the desk, which was more central and cluttered than what it had been. There was a cold, foam cup of tea laced with sugar and milk. Several books, case files splayed open. Warrick's footnotes had footnotes.

Ecklie had stalked them out, demanding to know why he was here when he should have been in a meeting with the sheriff, seeking social supremacy. Greg had muttered "comic relief. He hadn't muttered quietly enough and Conrad had glowered at him, and warned him. Warrick and Nick had had to keep pensive and stoic faced. When Ecklie left, after talking about 'his lab', Warrick and Nick bursting in to smiles, warning Greg that he would get in to trouble.

"Are you okay?" Warrick smiled thinly, thinking that perhaps there was a curse of being head of nightshift at CSI: Las Vegas.

"Other than scared for life-" Greg began, with a cheesy smile.

"We're fine." Nick cut him off. He scratched his chin.

"If you don't count being trapped for hours with about 20 DB's," added Greg, amiably. With the emphasis on the word 'hours', Warrick would have thought Nick and Greg had been trapped for twenty-four hours. It had only been four.

Warrick shuck his head, smiling, and listened to them blame each other about who's fault it was that the got locked in the large freezer. Both of them were intelligent beings and a newly installed door had beaten them.

"Are you sure you are okay?" Warrick asked gravely.

"Yeah, can't wait for the next time."

"Glad that you can retain some optimism," Warrick complimented him.

"Gee," he said blinking and nodding his head slightly, "thanks."

"Well, I am gonna go take my little girl to school."

"Later, Nick."

"See ya…so just you and me, Warrick…I hear that Grissom saw Sara a few days ago…shame we can't see if he has been seeing things…or you know actually saw her…I think that maybe-."

With a sigh and a shake of his, Warrick said, "Greg, I think that maybe you should just stop right there."

"How can you not be the tiniest bit curious?"

"'Curiosity kills that cat.'"

"I'm not a cat. But if we could just look at security tapes from that area, just to know if she is alive…"

"No."

Greg seemed to deflate; he couldn't even summon up the energy to protest.

"And if you go behind my back," he paused very briefly, jaw set, "I'll suspend you."

Greg's eyebrows shot up but he still respected Warrick on his decision. He just wanted to know.

Greg loved Sara, like he loved all his friends; they meant more to him than he could ever explain to them in his fractured version of English. He left and couldn't wait to crawl in to the shower and stumble in to bed, though perhaps not in that order.

Warrick looked at the framed photo of him and Catherine while he was waiting. Catherine was wearing that short black gleaming satin number with several sequins scattered randomly, with straps, the one with the hem above the knees. Catherine's flowing gold hair was twirled in a complicated manor made her a daring beauty. It emphasized her cheekbones. Warrick was wearing a black butter-silk shirt; he could see the damp patch of wetness. Warrick remembered how his shoulders shaking with laughter. They both were holding a glass of gaudy, pale yellow champagne and they had tried linking arms and drinking the liquid. It didn't work.

The shrill ringing of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He cleared his throat slightly before answering.

"Brown…Yes I did…Okay…Thank you."

After finishing the quick, blunt and brief call, he dialled Catherine's cell phone.

"Hey Cath, I am gonna be late. Only a few hours, but I just wanted let you know. See you soon."

* * *

Warrick had been in to the Audio/ Visual Lab just over forty minuets and his spider like hands had been kept over the keyboard and mouse the entire time and eyes fixed on the screen. The reason he didn't want Greg looking at the tapes is because if Greg got caught using resources, it would probably piss off Ecklie enough so Warrick would have pressure to fire Sanders, something he would never do. 

His eyebrows were slender and automatically met in the middle His cheekbones suddenly became prominent and beads of sweat were trickling down the back of his neck, his swathed like a spider's web. It was so warm. He double clicked on the right side of the mouse and he zoomed in. He replayed it twice, not blinking and the tears that were making his eyelids swell finally spilled out. His lips were full and half-open as if they had broken away just a moment before from a long, passionate kiss and were not yet sated. Air was tickling the saliva on his lips. He didn't know what feeling he felt, it was like pleasant fatigue or delicate waves flowing through his body.

He watched Grissom talk to a brunette wearing a red jacket on the screen. At leastGil wasn't hallucinating. He watched how Gil reacted when he turned around to see the person he had been talking to had gone. Warrick followed the women and he noticed how she was extremely weak, how she walked limped and how she kept her face down. He could understand how Grissom would have scared her. Warrick watched the tapes over and over, looking for a glimpse of the girl's face in semi-profile, something that showed that this was his missing colleague, missing friend.

But he couldn't prove or disprove this ghost of a women was Sara Sidle.

He gave up and went home.

* * *

thank you for reading x 


	7. Chapter 7

heya, new chapter 

Disclaimer: I own nothing, just playing with the characters. And the lyrics I used are from the song "Hurt" written/ performed by N.I.N

A/N: big thank you to fredchester and xxxsarasbutterflyxxx for reviewing the last review and for reviewing often...its really great. This is a flashback chapter and it's got flashback and thats in italics. The really long flashback isfrom nesting dolls.I wish I could update sooner than I have, but I am in a writingmood so I might write a chapter tonight and post it tommorrow.Its really long too...sorry... The next chapter is flashback chapter also but it will be shorter and then after that more sara...yay! I miss writing her.

x

* * *

Grissom was waiting for results in his office. He was soaking up the details of the surroundings and found it tasted like weak, warm tears. He realised how blue his space was.

His space pervaded with entomology, mythology and mysticism, a blue dreamscape and sense of oriental magic, shimmering with seductively radiant colour. The thoughts of what everyone else thought about Sara's whereabouts was running through Gil's mind as well as thoughts the case which hovered in some recess of his mind and a small, slow dulling ache was beginning to grow and swell. Gil had counteracted everyone's statements, sometimes with looks, sometimes with words and sometimes with 'dramatic exits' as Greg put it.

"_Maybe she is just ill."_

"_Then she would have called in sick." _

_Sara Sidle didn't get sick, she wouldn't allow it and she would still drag herself to work but refuse to work in the field in case she sneezed and contaminated anything._

"_Maybe she just took of. It would be so typical of her to do a thing like that."_

_Gil cast a stricken, angry and sparkling look, behind the blue eyes, a glimpse of life is there that is gradually and painfully burning away. Gil knew Sara wouldn't do that without telling anyone. But then he questioned himself, did he know Sara that well at all. Maybe she did tell someone, someone who wasn't a part of his world that was involved in Sara's world but a completely separate place._

"_Maybe it was a family emergency?"_

_The entomologist nodded and he left quickly, knowing that she didn't have any family; her father was physically dead and Gil assume that her would be emotionally dead, prison changes people, especially when you go to prison after protecting your daughter from abuse. Unless Laura Sidle was the abuser, in that case she would have gone to prison for protecting her daughter from the beauty and love in the world._

"_Maybe she felt she was getting too emotionally involved and took a few days off. The case was really getting to her."_

_Gil knew that she wasn't becoming involved, just semi-attached. And even if she was, they had talked, sorted it out between them like adults, like friends. Sara had actually displayed very little emotion during the case, her face had an uncanny look of ennui, isolation, and calculated detachment and this scared him so much the he flushed when ever she caught him looking at her. She looked as though she had felt unsafe in her own body._

"_Maybe she finally got sick of Grissom…making her work on all the crap cases…and treating her like crap…before the Homicide she is on now, she had worked on 4 B&E's, straight."_

_Grissom looked at the two people from dayshift discussing things they couldn't possibly understand. He left quickly before they turned there backs, before they saw that Grissom had human emotion. On his was to moving quickly to his secluded office Greg had greeted him. His answer was the slamming of the door._

Grissom came to his own conclusion; _maybe she is lying dead somewhere_. He didn't believe it slightly, not because it was a possibility, just because it seemed so extreme to think of Sara as…not alive.

Gil looked up at the clock and it read 1:57, Gil hadn't seen her for three days now.

* * *

The sun had risen and was climbing up the sky. Catherine and Warrick stood close to each other, precious and their own bubble; a phallic shaped union. They kept smiling at each other and the happiness they felt whenever their lips spread was like the splattering, burbling and dancing of water of a fountain. The height difference was clear-cut and so was the line between masculinity and femininity. The ridged, harsh forms of Warrick's shirt stood out; rectangles of the sliver collar, the black oblong trousers. In comparison, Catherine wore soft features of colourful, slightly ornamental and curved elements. Her back curved, beckoning a soft, sweet gesture and she pulled out her hair clasp. The burnt blonde hair rippled out and the golden halo of happiness, the aura of love surrounds, unites and isolates them. Gil felt bad for interrupting them.

"Hey Catherine,"

The union between Warrick and Catherine split quickly and cool professionalism returned.

"Hey Gil, what's up?"

"I just wanted to let you know I am going so you two will be the only ones from nightshift still here."

"How come…What time is it…Oh…" Warrick had shown her his watch.

"How time flies." She laughed. "You doing anything today?" Catherine waiting to hear the trademark elusive answer, yet it didn't come. But she wasn't surprised at his answer either.

"I'm gonna check in on Sara. Then sleep."

"Tell her I said hi and if she is ill, tell I hope she feels better."

"Yeah, tell her that from me too."

"Sure, see you guys tonight." he replied politely and left after the briefest smile

"Will do." Catherine called after him, her voice chasing in to his ears.

"And the day after that," she breathed as Warrick back next to her, completing a tower-like shape.

"And the day after that…"

* * *

It was going to be a beautiful day in Las Vegas. Red skies in the morning meant nothing anyone here. He was sat in his car, waiting to for the lights to change green.

Gil played with his the radio, listening for traffic report. However a single, dull and loud, repeating note of a piano played, accompanied with a tired, aged voice which sung the words, "Everyone I know, goes away in the end,"

Gil saw the transformation of red to green and he turned left, he had ignored the music until

"I will let you down, I will make you hurt." He blinked a few times as if reassuring himself he wasn't hallucinating, and then his face hardened into a harsh scowl as if the radio was some how mocking him. His finger quickly pressed the music off, briefly touching the plastic.

Gil stood outside and looked up.

"_Well, there is my apartment. Right there."_

Sara's car was still present, had been in the same spot for the last three days, but Gil didn't know this yet. Its black bonnet was not warm; the sun had not touched it yet as it was parked in shadows. Grissom looked back at the open and heavy gates, he had read that they closed at two in the morning and didn't open until 6 am. It seemed a waste of metal if they were only shut for four hours. There was a sense of irony about where Sara lived. The name 'Sara' meant 'princess' and her apartment was in the tallest building around and the highest room. He had visited once in all the years she had lived in Las Vegas.

_

* * *

__She had stopped crying, but he hadn't let go of her hand until she excused herself to go to her bathroom. He sat for several minuets until he got up to check on her. He hovered near the white door she had closed and then moved away from it, letting her have a small private cry. He moved away and realised that this apartment could not belong to anyone else but Sara. It demonstrated her vigour and independence, her virtuosity and brilliance. There were many things of personal relevance._

_There was a shelf dedicated to photograph frames. There was a single portrait of Greg placed in a chunky sliver framed holder. Almost anybody would love Greg and loving people like Greg was easy. The five years of oral hell, had given a smile that paradise would envy. His eyes seemed darker against the ivory white of his shirt. He was sat in Grissom's chair, leg over one of the arms, toasting with his flute to the photographer. The 'you passed' sign could be seen on Grissom's desk. A larger than normal one was of Nick, Warrick and Catherine, from Nick's birthday. It was post sunset. Nightshift had gone to a restaurant, just outside Pahrump. Catherine with flowing red hair made her look so stunning, she was an amazing woman, through and through, inside and out. Men turned their heads, eyes following her. But she only had eyes for Warrick. Mooneyes. Warrick wore a light blue shirt that dramatically contrasted with Nick's butter-soft black pin striped jacket. He wasn't there, enclosed in a frame. There were several photos of people he didn't recognise. He felt stupid when he realised that one of the unrecognized females, was actually Sara. She was smiling and younger._

_He looked out of her window. It was beautiful and the silence of the room made it sublime. His mind drifted to a tranquil state. It was another six minuets before his ears pricked up at the click of Sara shutting the door. He didn't turn his head but he watched her hazy reflection seem startled at his presence, as if she had expected him to have gone. She moved to her kitchen area._

_The silence remained until Sara said,_

"_Tea?"_

_He nodded and after a few minuets of rattling, Sara stood beside him, looking out. Silent._

"_I chose this place for the view. Always have to have a room with a view. Here." She passed him the blue cup without looking at him. He took it and said "thank you," without looking at her. He took a large sip._

_He watched her, both the reflection and out of the corner of his eye._

_Sara looked down at her own cup and turned away, her shoulders slumped, her chin down to her chest, hair hiding her face. She placed her cup down with such force, the milky liquid spilled over the edges._

_He needed to get on a rollercoaster after he left._

* * *

His eyes were very clear and direct as he knocked upon Sara's door. He needed to see her like he needed his next breath. When there was no reply, he tried the door handle, calling her name even louder. There was nothing. He banged on the door. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the wood. His stomach muscles were about to clenched when a woman shouted from about five feet in front of him;

"What are you doing making all that Goddamn noise?"

"Sorry, I am Gil Grissom, I am with the Las Vegas Crime Lab-."

"I'm Erin Lebowizt. There, we're introduced, now shut the hell up."

The woman walked off, muttering about something…_about a boyfriend?_

"Excuse me, can I ask you a few questions?"

"Sure, so long as you don't make anymore noise" the women went back to her door and leaned back on the doorframe. Grissom followed her. She looked back, smiling at something or someone.

"I've got a little girl."

Gil made an 'o' shape with his mouth. Erin thought he was very nonchalant.

"So what do you want to ask me?"

"When was the last time you saw the women who lives in that apartment?"

"About three days ago."

"At what time?"

"Evening, about seven."

"You muttered something about a boyfriend?"

"Well, I think he was her boyfriend. Been around here a few times, shouted at him too for making noise."

"Can you describe him?"

Gil asked several more questions and he left feeling something he couldn't name. He leaned against his car, waiting for Catherine to pick up on the end of the other line.

"Hey Catherine…yeah she is not there… her car is still here but she hasn't been seen by her neighbour for three days…and…I gotta call you back."

The gleaming surface of the plastic orange burnt in the rays of the sun. Grissom knelt down beside it, and poked away the grass with his pen, not disturbing the container. He wanted to snatch it up and see if it was what he thought and resisting that demanded tremendous control and his was slipping.

Vitamin tablets.

A stupid, worthless, meaningless, futile container of pathetic vitamin tablets prescribed for S. Sidle. He went back to call Catherine, it was now officially a crime scene.

* * *

thanks for reading 

x


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own nothing,

A/N: I told ya I was in a writing mood lol...thank you tofredchester for reviewingso quickly. Next chapter will be up next thursday. I have work out where I am in this story I think I am over a third through (yay).. this chapter goes flashback/present... This is the second to last flashback in the whole story. the next one comes much later...actually there might be two... I dunno...I tried to make a suspence end to this chapter... I think its crap but oh well.

Thanks for reading

x

* * *

_Months passed, cases came and went, some tough, emotionally and some because of different variables. People were put in and released from prison. Life went on. But Nightshift was minus a leader, some who guided them, someone who protects and exposes them to the troubles and grief of the world. They were minus a friend._

_Gil became so much of a recluse and so withdrawn he is existence almost became mythic. Grissom never requested any assistance on any of his cases, and when there were no cases, he would work on the folder entitled "Sidle, S. Missing Persons" even though there was little evidence to go over; the security cameras had been a bust, the electricity for the block had gone out because of the storm; no hairs; no blood. The man the neighbour had described was in fact, Sara's brother who had come to see her in Las Vegas, though he kept his reasons private. Gil had the pain of having to fly to San Francisco to tell Sara's mother, Laura, that her only daughter was missing. What he found was something completely opposite than what he had expected. He found an elderly women with cunning brown eyes and remarkably perfect symmetry of the facial bones, an old woman who couldn't remember even having a daughter because she had Alzheimer's. He found a son trying and struggling to take care of his mother who was now having to deal with the loss of a sister. When Gil had mentioned Sara to Laura, he could see the words sinking down, down in to her mind, through all the levels of pain and remembrance and what she knew she could never deny, but could only retreat from, and all the truths that she had feared as a child, an adolescent and an adult, her entire life. He tried and her brother tried, but 'Sara' was unrecognised until the last day of Gil's time in San Francisco. Laura Sidle had wept and sobbed. Gil heard that she eventually she went in to a depressed state and refused to eat._

_Three months after that Ecklie had told Nightshift to 'give up' as Grissom and Greg saw, that his time was more valuable than to spend half a shift looking over the same case file. A year after that, Ecklie told Grissom to hire someone else. __Ecklie's messages were always clear, and it hurt and angered her. Somewhere in his mind, the word "missing" registered, but in his heart he knew it wasn't true. It was a mistake. Sara wasn't missing, he just couldn't find her; he had lost her. But he would get her back. _

"_I need you,"_

"_I need her,"_

"_I have you,"_

_He paid the rent on her apartment, since the first month she went away, because he knew that when she came back she would want everything to be just like she had it. He had to stop for financial reasons, but it would be okay, she could live with him and he would help her get a new apartment. He boxed up all of her things and stored them in his house. The three day job took him two weeks. Every time he saw something he didn't know what to do with, or something that he knew was her favourite, he had to stop. He spent the two weeks living in Sara's apartment. Listening to her music, eating vegetarian food from the places she ordered take-out from, sleeping on her sofa, watching her view. She had diaries, he never opened them. He felt he understood more about her life by living it for a while._

_Gil hardly spoke to anyone anymore, he gave the impression that he couldn't bear to look at anyone. Whenever he did to exchange information with people at work, it was in passing in the hallways or over the telephone. Once, Catherine had not seen him for just over two months, she had caught flu and then got a relapse of it. She swore bluntly and aloud when she first saw him. His skin had become unnaturally pale and looked harsh and brittle. He was tired__ and glum, absent, weary, dispirited, detached, melancholy, distracted. __The second anniversary of Sara's disappearance passed and Gil finally took some time off. No one knew where he went, not even Brass or Catherine._

_When he came back, the once strained relationships with his friends vanished and they returned to something of a closer, warmer family. Gil refused to lose anyone again. By the third anniversary, Catherine was head of her own shift and Gil was ready to leave his. He had discussed it with Catherine over alcoholic beverages and over the phone with Brass. Brass had left after Sara's missing person's case became metaphorically, shoved in to a drawer. It was warm December night and there was a glorious heat buzz and the sky was just entering its phase of navy blue and leaving the shade of perfect lavender behind when Warrick was asked to come in early to work by Grissom._

* * *

It was half dark outside. There was a shrill ringing pressing against Gil's eardrum. He felt that his dreams had become hollow and ashy like coals and they were at the mercy of a single breath. He would forget them soon.

"Hello," he said groggily.

"Hey, it's Warrick."

"Hi Warrick. Are you okay? Has something happen?"

"No, no. Nothing like that." Warrick breathed deeply. He had already half-told Catherine about what he had heard and she had told him not to tell Gil.

"Look, I am going behind Catherine's back on this, so just make sure you keep it yourself."

"Warrick…what is it?" Gil said, slightly confused as he knew Warrick didn't keep much from Catherine.

"I was listening in on one of the new officers… 'Tyler' is his name, I think…anyway I was listening to his conversation today and he said almost hit a woman while he was in his patrol car and that she dropped all her shopping bags in shock. This was in the same area you were in two months ago,"

"What's your point Warrick?"

"Well, I quote, 'how could the stupid bitch not see us. We could see her and her bright red coat.' Tyler then told me he helped her up and gathered her shopping and offered her a ride home. She refused as she said "I only live over there," Warrick continued.

"When I asked Officer Tyler what see looked like he said, 'Brunette, really thin, tall for a female.' He also said that she had a large bruise to her wrist and when he went to help her up, she yelped in pain and begged him not to touch her."

Warrick listened to Gil's heavy breathing, the air being sucked in and forced out of his nostrils.

"Griss'. You there? Something?"

Gil had only one thing to say.

"Where?"

* * *

x 


	9. Chapter 9

Sorry, there been a slight mess up... I hated the way the original chapter 9 ended... so I changed it... The new bit starts at "Gil carefully walked over erupted roots and flagstones," if ya have already read it...sorry again... x 

Disclaimer: I own nothing

A/N: Thank you to soooo much to Bene (so happy I managed to do suspense, thank you), xxxsarasbutterflyxxx (hope ya had a good weekend and thank you for reviewing) and aemie (who I just wanna hug, thank you so much for reviewing and adding to faves). I can't believe how fast the story like, coming together... I thought I would have quit it by now so thank you again to anyone who has taken an intrest in it, its just been wonderful.

x

* * *

The white diamond burned up in heavens zone.

"Thanks for doing this Nick. I guess this is just one more thing for the list."

"There is no list. You know that. Never has, never will."

Grissom's lips curved softly and he looked back out to the road. Gil and Nick, the entomologist and the cowboy, had been sat in Nick's car for almost four hours; the air stood motionless around them. Sometimes they talked for a long period of time and then they would sit quietly and in a comfortable silence, enjoying each others presence. Gil had once glanced at Nick, during the silence, and noticed that his eyelids were hiding the deep coffee eyes and that his breathing had softened slightly.

Grissom watched wild Boreas blow around the ankles of the car. Grissom thought that maybe he could compare the relationship he had with Sara to something. Boreas and Orithea, perhaps, Boreas went to hug Orithea and because of his powerful, raging winds, he shivered and shattered the fair pri ncess from the top of a cliff. Maybe that's why they couldn't be close, he always blasted her away.

Nick's body shuck awake suddenly and violently with agitation. He rubbed his eyes and then opened his eyes, adjusting them to the surroundings. He looked at Grissom looking back at him. Behind his boyish smile, Nick had a cesspool of monsters. Grissom handed him a bottle of slightly warm, still water which he guzzled greedily, trying to conceal the tremors in his hand. He couldn't hide the two thick, hot tears streaming from his large eyes.

"Thank you."

"S' Okay," Gil let Nick breathe.

"So what's her name?" Nick stirred, stretching his sharp shoulder blades.

"Sara."

"No, I meant now."

"I know what you meant…its Sara. Whether it's eclipsed or shining brightly, the moon is still the moon. Just because she is living under a different name, doesn't mean she still isn't Sara inside."

"So, have you only seen her once?"

"Yes."

"Well, time changes people and it may still be Sara inside, but the Sara eight years ago is going to be different from the one now. None of us know what she has been doing. Is she married? Does she have children?" Nick's questions made everything seem surreal and realistic at the same time; truth but no logic.

* * *

Greg was furious, beyond livid; the hot bubble of poison was going to burst. If that washing machine gave him anymore grief, he was getting a new one.

"I thought you said you had fixed it. Does this look fixed?" There had been so much water, that the plants outside were benefiting from the water leakage. The plumber sprouted out some technical talk while Ashley shimmered with glee as foam massaged her cherry-red toenails. Her shoes, which were the colour of emerald ice, had most of her giggling flesh as she stood there, sometimes yanked out soft flirtatious and harmless laughs and jerked out talk with the stranger fixing the once-again broken washing machine.

Ashley felt her phone vibrate against her hip and flicked it out in a serious of simple movements.

"Hello…MOM! Yeah, I'm okay, are you? Yes…I can't wait to see you. I've got dressed up and everything so we can have dinner together or something…Are you in Las Vegas…" Greg watched Ashley discreetly.

"What? Why?" He saw her face downfall. Her voice lowered down from its bright, happy, girly, usual tone. You wouldn't be able to tell over the phone, but the small difference boomed outwards.

"Oh…yeah…right…Yes of course I understand…" it returned to normal, Ashley could taste the change on her tongue and didn't like it. Greg could tell that the new spell of brightness in her flowing cocktail of a voice was plastic but she didn't falter in making herself believe it was plastic.

"Okay, I'll get Greg to call you. Yeah…so I will see you in a few weeks then…Bye."

Greg didn't even see a flicker of emotion on Ashley's face after she closed down the flip on her phone. She did it with a sharp force as if she was saying lusciously and sarcastically in her head, "Love you too, Mom." She put her phone down on the table, as if by touching it, she would gain a horrible disease.

"Mom says can you call her in about seven hours, because she, urm…" Now Greg saw the flicker. It was a brief and tiny one, but it was there when she had quickly glanced down at the phone which had severed the connection between mother and daughter.

"…is on a flight. She said will be back in a few weeks, she wants to sort things out with my Dad but she wants to talk to you about me staying here."

"Okay-."

"I can still here, right?" Ashley's voice snapped in.

Greg had never seen such worry on her face before, eyes wide, just showing the rims above her iris.

"Of course."

Ashley pulled down slightly at her dress and looked at Greg with dazed eyes.

"I think I am gonna go change." She started to walk in her clattering heels.

"Hey, we can still go out for food if you want?"

She smiled, childlike with childlike sadness.

"No thanks, I'm not really hungry." Ashley exited the room, performing ballet over the foam bubbles.

"Sorry, you had to witness that." The plumber stood up, rummaged for some tools.

"Nah, it's okay." Greg's house phone began to ring and he excused himself from the plumber's presence.

* * *

It was now midway through the afternoon.

"Maybe it was a different woman, Griss'. It was a long shot."

Gil mmmmm-ed in response.

"But it was a shot worth taking."

"Mmmm."

"If you say you saw her, I do believe you, Grissom."

"Yeah," he said absently.

"But at least we know that she is alive and you're not even listening to me, are you?" The realisation hit Nick like a grey tennis ball.

"What…Oh, no I am…and that means a lot, it's just that curtain keep twitching, every 15 minuets or so. It's been moving for a couple of hours now. At first I thought maybe it was just, you know…a breeze blowing through the house, but the movements have gotten more frequent."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to see if you were still as sharp as you were when I was your boss."

Nick laughed slightly.

"Are you gonna go or am I?"

"I'll go. You can see the door from here, so if she hits me with something large and heavy, you'll have to come get me."

Nick moved his head side-to-side, laughing through his teeth and nose.

* * *

Gil carefully walked over erupted roots and flagstones. Wooden columns held up the house, long windows with shutters and a rocking chair on the porch, chipped blue paint wooden railings. Hanging next to the door was a crucifix, Spanish in style- the Christ grotesque and poorly proportioned but suffering with beyond the appropriate horror on the rotting cross. The house was devoid of life. Thin and frowsy drapes hung in the windows. There was a hanging basket. It did stink of different flower scents and he looked at the petals that were surrounded by the greenish blue leaves that waved, in the hanging basket. They looked so frail, that with a stroke it would bruise them. Grissom's minded suddenly jolted to the information of Sara having a bruise on her wrist and yelping in pain. Gil looked up to see the soft, sweet vines of ivy twining and dripping from the roof. There was a spider's blowing in the wind like rotten lace. He knocked on the door, so very gentle. It was a red door with a glass misty rectangle running straight down the centre. He was about to knock again when a dark figure could be seen through the glass. There was a rattle and snap. The door open but stopped; it was restricted by a chain.

"Yes." Sara's half face was shown.

"Hi,"

"What do you want?" She leaned her head against the door, her eyelids heavy, as if she was falling asleep or as if she was clinging to the door to stop white, floating angels from taking her away.

"To help,"

"I don't need your help." her voice was husky and unsteady; the space between her eyebrows was pushed together by speech and she leaned even more forward, pressing her body through the door. Her eyes were fully closed now. Her smooth hands moved down to her stomach. Forefinger scratched the skin beneath the faded black sweater. Hands clasped over her belly button. Gil burned her in to his memory.

_Who the hell wears turtleneck tops in Las Vegas?_

"Okay, Susan," Her eyes opened revealing a cocktail of auburn; gold; coffee; tan; soft ice.

"But if you do," he took a white rectangle from his snug pocket, "this is my card." He offered her it, his hand crossed the threshold.

"It's got my home and cell phone number on, in case you do need help."

Her eyes cast downward and back upward to Gil. She felt her subtle heartbeat in belly.

"Or if you need to talk." He prompted her to take it.

She reached out slowly and Gil unconsciously dipped his finger. She snapped her arm back. Gil swallowed deep in to trachea as his left hand corkscrewed itself in to his pocket. He nodded his head and she shut the door quickly.

"How did that go?" The first thing Nick said, before Grissom even sat down.

"Better than I thought it would. She didn't say much."

"What did you expect her to say?"

"I don't know…"

"What some water?" Gil needed something stronger. He slurped it in to his mouth, swirled and spat it back out the window as if the liquid of life that caressed his tongue would cause it to rot and die in his mouth. His Hand moved to his mouth and with a thumb and forefinger pinch, he wiped away any water that hung like diamond stalagmites from his darkened lips. Gil brought both his hands up and they squeezed his neck muscles, applying pressure behind the ears and his forefingers dug in to his flesh. He opened his door…

"Come on, let's go."

"I guess your observation skills have gone down too." Nick nodded to Sara's house. Gil took a deep, cool breath. Sara or Susan as she was called now was taking out the rubbish in a small, ugly bag.  
"It really is Sara… She is so beautiful." Nick felt so overwhelmed and Grissom just looked at him with confusion.

"I mean that she is alive, she looks half dead there."

The two men watched her, completely enthralled.

Sara looked around, neck arching.

"What is she doing?" They watched her. She did something with her hair, cat like in movement. She was brushing her brown flat locks. She looked once again around and placed something on the trash can and ran back inside.

Gil and Nick were smiling.

"Smart girl, Sara."

"Yeah, you go girl," Nick had already leaped out of the car with a plastic evidence bag so Grissom barely heard what he had said. They drove away, sitting in silence, stewing with something that was too weak to be called happiness but made them feel less hopeless. Ten minuets later, another vehicle parked in the place they had been.


	10. Chapter 10

heya

disclaimer: I own nothing.

a/n: another re-write of a chaper...sorry... but its only a few things, I wanted to change a few things because I re-read it after jess/MontyPythonFan it was a bit confusing so thats why the change.I am working on the next chapter already (about 500 words in to it) which means it will be up on either friday or sunday. By the way I just wanted to say that Ashley is a semi-key factory,there is a point with the strange text messages.Dybdahl thank you for reviewing, glad you find grissom scary lol...he is gonna get weirder and scarier, obsession makes you do the crazy. jess/MontyPythonFan thank you again for reviewing, hope this chapter 10 is better than the last one. dark-girl-faith-sidle what she put there is explained, thank you for review.

x

* * *

Sara was sat in the kitchen in complete darkness; the blind was down and the curtains were pulled across, the kitchen door was shut, blocking any light that came from the hallway. Before she had answered the door, Sara had been thinking about wretchedness and misery in the world, how she was lucky compared to some people and how selfish she was; she had a lot to be thankful for; she had a house; food; love; everything that she needed provided for her. A sound jolted her; a key turning; then another key; another lock. She heard him hum, or whistle. Chris Beven was perceived by everybody as a perfectly normal, nice man, maybe she had distorted thinking; bad thoughts; faulty perception.

"Susan," he cried out, "Susan." She closed her eyes again as she heard him calling. The acidic tears that made her eyelids swell fell down her bleached bone white cheeks. It was her jailer; her husband. She wanted to feel hate, grow ridged with it even. She couldn't, she loved him, though she couldn't understand why. She could hear his thudding steps come towards her. She wanted to lie on the table and refuse to speak. But she couldn't prevent herself from crying out to him.

"I'm in the kitchen."

The lighting flashed against her eyelids and she looked at the sterile white room.

"Found you," he said in a soft and soothing tone, different to the usual sarcastic and rough one. Susan looked up from her clasped hands, smiling. He smiled back gingerly, showing his yellow-tainted and gapping teeth and his magical eyes that lit up like the flames of hell. He slammed his metal box on the table, the clash of surfaces made Susan's shoulders jump involuntary.

He twisted her face upwards, kissing her, her innocent mouth melting under the pressure of dark, ferocious jaws, sucking her raw rose lips. The wet, matted eyelashes blinked and tickled his face. Her iris's just focused on the ceiling.

"You seem happy tonight," she said as he slithered around her to wash his hands.

"I am. Guess why?"

"I don't know. Tell me." She was smiling, the most genuine smile she had felt in a long time. If he was happy, then that meant so many things. The man turned around and looked at his wife. She was such a gem; he had dug deep in the mines to find this precious one.

"I have got us a performance at the retirement home around the corner." Together him and Sara did low paid magician work that was demeaning and pathetic, anyone could see it. But they needed to money.

"That's fantastic," she breathed, making sure she was happy for him. "When?"

"Tonight," he was still smiling and walked over and knelt down beside her.

"So I need you to go," his fingertips breezed over her gooseberry skin, his huge hairy hand squeezing, "and put your make-up and your costume on."

She looked at him.

"Please not tonight…I am too tired, please…not tonight." She pled quietly, Sara was a silent screamer. He stood up, watching her, staring at her, blanched in a silence fury. His eyes smouldered in to her hair, while her eyes only managed to glow briefly in to the floor. Without looking upwards she moved.

"I'll go get ready."

"Be ready in 30 minuets," he made her shudder from head to feet, as his voice was so gruff. It was impossible to guess from what remote recess of the body it proceeded and it had merely echoed in his throat.

She picked up her empty hairbrush; she hoped that the man with a familiar face had taken her strings of hair. But what if he couldn't look beyond the surface, what if he couldn't see what lies beneath. It was hopeless; a large dull cloud of hopelessness.

* * *

Ashley lay on her bed, spread out like a mermaid and dressed in such unfitting and revolting clothes. Dull blue slacks and a lilac top. Her rich swirls and curls of hair were pulled back grimly and tied up. She had reduced her make-up to its basic elements; her natural look was mystically unnatural. Ashley's mom, Miranda, always let her know that she was a mistake when she came in from the drunken streets of New York. It was not alcohol that made her drunk though; for Miranda, her job was her high; her LSD, her crystal meth and lady Heroin all rolled in to one delicious cocktail. Ashley wasn't completely sure what her mother's job was, but she knew it meant she would only see her mother, on average, twice a month. Sometimes it would be three, but that would only happen around Christmas and Ashley's birthday. For how long was a huge variable.

Ashley hated Las Vegas, with a passion. They had moved because Miranda didn't have friends in New York, well she did but only so she could get to the top by either making love eyes at them or slowly stabbing them all in the spines, and she felt it would do her good to get a fresh start for her only daughter. Greg welcomed them of course, it was his nature and the cold bitch Ashley and many others perceived Miranda to be stopped. Instead, Ashley felt like the cold bitch, spoilt and rotten to her core. She had begged Miranda to let her stay with her dad, but he had been sleeping with his assistant. And his assistant's assistant; and the women from the Chicago office; and the girl who he had asked to bring him a coffee. But Dad, her Dad was one of those guys you fell in lust and love with and stayed hooked; dishy, dreamy rock star hair, big eyes and a cheeky, golden smile consisting of perfectly straight white teeth. It was a surprise that his teeth were not rotten and filled with sliver; his voice always was voice smooth and rich like honey. Now Mom was flying, not that that made difference, because of technology she could create a PowerPoint for her meeting in London on her laptop while she was on her cell to Paris while soaring to L.A. Miranda may be under the delusion she was the dominant one in their relationship but that fact that she was rushing to New York to see the man she had not seen for 12 months, showed who was in control.

The flash of her phone and a weak vibrating buzz disturbed her phase of looking at nothingness and interrupted her train of thought. The upside about being a spoilt brat of two wealthy parents, that felt guilty for not spending enough time with their daughter, was that in the way of possessions, she got what she wanted.

It wasn't a number she recognised.

**Hi, Ashley, you have a secret admirer.**

**Lv. J. x x**

She suddenly found herself happier and automatically texted back.

* * *

The audience that were been entertained by the amateur magician and his masked mystical mistress, were saucy and pedantic and pathetically withered like prunes. The elderly people clapped when he completed a trick that was decorated to seem complex, when actually it was very simple. So far he had done the production of certain objects, like a rabbet out of a hat, transformation which was flowers into a dove, restoration and levitation. Now if was time for his grand finale; vanish.

Chris's cheekbones were prominent his forehead was high and when he smiled at his applause, his slender eyebrows met in the middle. He looked over to his Susan also smiling. Her dead hair was twirled up in a complicated manor and emphasized her cheekbones. She wore a dress with a deep slash neck, sleeveless, knee-length dress trimmed with black ostrich feathers down the front and along the hem. Her ears were decorated with topaz studs. He enjoyed lavishing punches of affection and beatings of love upon her, as well as punches and beatings of other things. She was gleaming in her dress but the beads of sweat were trickling down the back of her neck, seeping in to the fine black material dress which was swathing her like a spider's web. Although she was smiling hard, her lips trembled and she had a sweaty face of elaborate and flawless make-up. She wasn't ready, he had just let her come out of her cave; she didn't want to exchange it for a new one.

She pushed the large, oblong box to the centre of his small stage. It was handcrafted and yellow and had purple stars. Together they showed the audience there was nothing in the box, all the sides were wood.

The magician held her hand and kissed it and made her step up in to the box's opening. She was going to hide away, disappear from peering eyes. But after so many long periods of being imprisoned in small spaces she hissed through her teeth,

"Please don't make me go in."

"Get in the box, Susan…" Chris's anger clamped down on his voice box, and he became motionless and soundless, stricken with overwhelming rage.

"This is embarrassing…Susan"

"Please," she whimpered softly.

They both heard the murmurs of the crowd and Chris forced her in to the magical box. The door slammed and Sara was left in the darkness. She began to weep in a dry quiet way as a dull hopelessness covered everything as the door shut. Her face would become a rainbow of make-up if she didn't stop, and she manoeuvred herself in position to complete the illusion of disappearing. She heard her husband open the door and everyone 'ooh' and 'ahhh' followed by more claps.

* * *

It was past midnight and Susan was wakened by Chris, he was shaking her and then he sank down on his knees in front of her. She was Susan again and her punishment for licking the personality of that defiant bitch she used to be, Sara, was the sensation of her legs hurting so much and her thin ankles aching. Her arms ached and there was a new nauseating smell that reminded her of flowers. Her eyes adjusted. There were flowers, many of them, roses, and lilies and tulips and other blossoms sitting proud on stiff stems. It brought a strange image of a crime scene from a long ago, so long Susan thought it was a dream or something she had seen on the television. A woman had killed herself had ordered something close to a hundred bouquets and had arranged them around her bed and then had taken poison. It was one of the most beautiful scenes Susan had in her head. 

"You thought I'd died in here, didn't you?"

"I love you, you just make me angry sometimes," Chris cried.

"I understand," Susan said dully. She was unsure it had meant to sound dull whether it came out like that because of the much pain in her face. She thought that perhaps he had broken her jaw and nose.

"I do love you, Susan."

"I love y…" she stopped in pure confusion wondering why she was sobbing down in to her chest. Susan tried to speak again.

"I love you…" She didn't have the courage to stop, or the physical strength she lacked to stop her crying. He picked up her sobbing body and carried her to bed.

"My poor, beloved Susan, my dearest darling."

* * *

thanks for reading...again x 


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